P,
As the mother-in-law was visiting this weekend, I took the opportunity to take her to lunch today for her Mother’s Day gift. I think the real present was my sincere expression of gratitude for helping her son become the man I love today–or most days, anyway. What I failed to mention are the times I pejoratively call him by his mother’s nickname and accuse him of taking her dark side to an extreme.
You may not know that my mother-in-law and hubby are obsessed with tradition–you know, family habits that no one enjoyed the first time but must be replayed endlessly so they may be recounted in therapy later. I prefer to set aside tradition and spend endless holidays in a morose and despairing state, roused only by a strong cosmopolitan.
I’m fairly certain my way is better only b/c it prepares my children for all the failed expectation soon to follow in their lives. Innocence and fun really only offer the naive the belief that things may turn out o.k. in the end. Why not offer them a taste of reality while young and impressionable so they may be sent into the world cynical and slightly soured on life. It seems, dearest P, that anything good that happens after that is only icing on the cake, right?
Do tell me, P, if anything I’ve suggested is off base. I’m headed right now to tell the cherubs dinner is canceled and they must forage for their meal. Oh, won’t they appreciate me more tomorrow night when I put any old thing on the table?
Faithfully,
C.
